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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993442">You're Such a Baboso, Rick...</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchiaro/pseuds/samchiaro'>samchiaro</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rick and Morty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Attempt at Humor, Bathroom Humor, Drunkenness, Fluff, Gen, Gross, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Latino Character, Latino Morty Smith, Latino Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Mexican slang, Short One Shot, Spanish Speaking, Spanish Translation, Urination</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:53:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchiaro/pseuds/samchiaro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The light burns his retinas for a second, then his eyes adjust and settle onto the mess on the floor caught within the doorway:</p><p>It’s Rick.  Absolutely wasted.  Three unlabeled bottles are scattered around him, definitely of the alien moonshine variety, illegal in fifty-three planets, including this one if they knew about it.  Snorting, face down, ass out.  Reeking of liquor and piss.   Just a total mess.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh... Rick... come on... again?”<br/> </p><p>Morty nudges Rick’s shoulder with his foot.</p><p>He groans and covers his face from the searing bathroom lights.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Ugggghhh déjame en paz, cabrón...”</em></p><p>~~~~</p><p>A short and silly one-shot I wrote at 3 am involving a wasted Rick flat on the bathroom floor and an irritated Morty just trying to use the bathroom undisturbed getting cussed out in Rick's first language, Spanish.  Morty can't catch a break.  But hey, at least he can connect to his Latin roots through speaking Spanish with his grandpa once he's, like, two bottles in, right?  Right?.... Oof...<br/>~~~~</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rick Sanchez &amp; Morty Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're Such a Baboso, Rick...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(Disclaimer: I myself am Mexican-American. This how I would speak Spanish with my own family and friends.<br/>Though it wouldn't really affect the show that much, I've always wanted to get a few more hints and references to Rick's ethnicity in the show, as he's one of the few characters on mainstream tv who is Latino [or Hispanic at least, based on his last name], and having that representation in such a hugely embraced mainstream show is pretty cool.  So this is more of just a personal projection onto Rick to see more of his Latin roots... In a humorous way, of course.<br/>I pigeonholed him as Mexican here because that's what I am and is the Latin culture I'm most familiar with, but we don't canonically know what his ethnicity actually is...Not that we really need to, but again...the representation is cool, man! )</p><p>English translations will be at the end notes.  Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>Morty gets up to piss. It’s three AM. Dark hallway, can't see a thing.</p><p>He trudges, drowsy eyes still half-closed, towards the bathroom.</p><p>Approaches the doorway and yelps as he trips over a body.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>FUCK!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It grunts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ugh. Not again....</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mood instantly shifting from freaked out to annoyed, Morty reaches over and flips on the bathroom light switch.</p><p>The light burns his retinas for a second, then his eyes adjust and settle onto the mess on the floor caught within the doorway:</p><p>It’s Rick.  Absolutely wasted.  Three unlabeled bottles are scattered around him, definitely of the alien moonshine variety, illegal in fifty-three planets, including this one if they knew about it.  Snorting, face down, ass out.  Reeking of liquor and piss.   Just a total mess.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh... Rick... come on... again?”</p><p> </p><p>Morty nudges Rick’s shoulder with his foot.</p><p>He groans and covers his face from the searing bathroom lights.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Ugggghhh déjame en paz, cabrón...”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Morty carefully steps over him to get through the doorway and into the bathroom.  He nudges him again from the other side, harder this time, tries to push him off the tiles and out of the doorframe.</p><p> </p><p>“Get out of here, Rick. Come on...”</p><p> </p><p>Rick haphazardly pushes Morty’s foot off of him.  He writhes around on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Déjame, ya te dije...”</em></p><p> </p><p>“No, I won’t. You leave <em>me </em>alone, asshole! Get out of here so I can pee in peace!”</p><p> </p><p>Morty kicks him one more time, jumps back over him to the hallway to attempt pulling him off the floor by the legs, but his sluggish body and stubborn, plastered attitude were too heavy to move.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Por Dios, ya...no voy a mover, güey... ¡Ya, quítate!...”</em></p><p> </p><p>Frustrated and bladder in pain from holding it in for so long, he gives up and jumps back over to the toilet.  He cautiously checks the bowl to make sure there isn't vomit waiting for him this time.  Good, none.  Based on Rick’s <em>eau de piss</em> he was currently wearing, and his bare ass, and the puddle around his waist... he was probably on his way to the bathroom earlier in the night and in his drunken stupor didn't make it... Why his pants were down was anybody's guess, and Morty knew it was usually best to leave that unanswered.   </p><p>At least he’s upgraded from the piss bottles he’d leave around in his room and garage before.  For some mega-genius, he claimed he'd taught himself not to "break his focus" by stopping to use the bathroom and would just piss in whatever empty liquor bottles he could find laying around...couldn’t take the time to devise some device to handle that, not even a stupid catheter or something...</p><p>Rick insisted, <em>look, what ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Truckers have been doing this for years, driving non-stop, both on this planet and whatever other planets and intergalactic trade systems capitalism has taken ahold of... You think they've got their sweet time to stop and take a piss, Morty?! NO! They've got product to move, coke to snort, their asses are on the line, Daddy Corporate to please! Or else they get dropped and replaced by Musk's self-driving cars or whatever! Automation, Morty! It's killing the Trucker Piss Bottle Industry, don't you get it? We gotta keep it alive!... </em></p><p> </p><p>Morty groans and puts up the toilet seat. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, fine, jerk. Look away. This is embarrassing enough as it is...”</p><p> </p><p>He starts peeing, and finally Rick moves.  He crumples up, twisting towards the wall and shielding his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Morty, what the fuck...?! I’m in the splash zone here!”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you to move!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, whatever...<em> Cabrón</em>...”</p><p> </p><p>Rick’s hands slap around the floor, feeling for his bottles.  Failing to find them, he finally tries to sit up, but collapses back down onto his elbows, then back flat on the floor.  Zero coordination, gravity suddenly feels 3,000 times heavier.  Damn, how much did he drink this time?  And what, exactly...?</p><p> </p><p>“Stop, just stop.  Let me finish in here and I’ll help you, okay?  And God, pull up your pants, I hate seeing your bare ass more than I need to.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Burp</em>... yeah yeah, fine...”</p><p> </p><p>He manages to do so, flopping about as he pulls them up.</p><p> </p><p>Morty flushes and washes his hands.  He then steps over Rick one last time and gives him his hand.</p><p>Rick slowly sits up again, swaying, rubbing his temples and jaw, eyes <em>reeeeal</em> low.  Damn, guess he was really fucked up this time around... He can barely see, the world is swirling like a cocktail... </p><p>He sits still for a second, collecting himself, then takes Morty’s hand.</p><p>Morty pulls him up and attempts to grab Rick's arm so that he doesn’t fall back down again.  But instead, Rick just collapses onto Morty’s shoulder, arm now slung heavily over him.  Morty is nearly crushed to the ground from the sudden weight, but he holds steadfast and lurches forward, grabbing his grandpa’s arm tight and leading him.</p><p>Together they stumble back to Rick's room, bumping into the walls and tripping over the carpet, making the two doors down distance feel like two miles.  But they make it there.</p><p>The door was still closed.  Rick must’ve been up all night in the garage, then came inside at some point for the bathroom.  Well, again, better than those nasty piss bottles...</p><p>Morty opens the door and drags Rick over to his bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, we’re here. Please don’t pass out on the bathroom floor again.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Pfft, </em>Morty, that’s like asking a Meeseeks not to die.  An impossible, immoral request.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh...then handle your alien liquor better....or portal to our bathroom in another dimension or something.”</p><p> </p><p>He just snorts. “Don’t count on it. This one’s got 4-ply.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh...<em>pinche baboso...” </em>Morty mutters under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>Rick nearly snaps his neck to look down at Morty at what he just said. His face is stone-cold shocked at first, which freaks Morty out for a second.  Then it softens into the face of a sentimental jackass, which freaks Morty out even more.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aww</em>... You sound so cute when you curse at me like that, <em>mijo!</em>” Rick coos, exaggerated as fuck. “<em>Abuelo </em>is so proud of you...”</p><p> </p><p>Embarrassed, Morty takes Rick’s tightly wrapped arm off from around his neck and drops him onto his sheets.  He slams down with no complaints, grinning like the wasted madman he is.</p><p> </p><p>“Rick, go to sleep.  And shower tomorrow morning, please?  You pissed yourself yet again...”</p><p> </p><p>Rick simply laughs, then belches, then rolls over, covering himself with his bed duvet. </p><p> </p><p><em>"No me digas...voy a ducharme cuando yo quiero, no cuando me digas..."</em> He slurs, eyes shut to stop the world from sloshing. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, well, fine...but don't blast Chente again if it's gonna be at six in the morning.  We get enough of that on cleaning days..."</p><p> </p><p>He snorts. "Come on, Morty, you know me better. That's my 'wallow in self-pity' playlist, not my 'morning hangover' one..."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, yeah... Whatever..."</p><p> </p><p>Morty trudges off without looking back at him.  </p><p> </p><p>Once he was at the doorway, Rick softly mutters,</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Buenas noches, mijo.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Morty stops, suprised.  He turns slightly, and whispers back,</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Buenas noches, abuelo.”</em></p><p> </p><p>He continues back to his room, turning off the bathroom light as he passes, and clamors onto his bed. </p><p>As he lays there, his thoughts begin to race...</p><p>Though he hates the disgusting mess Rick becomes when he gets this far gone on the liquor... once he’s this drunk, he starts speaking Spanish with Morty.  Forgets English for a while and reverts back to his first language, what his mom and dad spoke to him with, the great-grandparents Sanchez... </p><p>...gets sentimental and busts out the <em>rancheros clasicos</em> and <em>mariachi</em>, Infante and Chente and Jimenez, sobbing on the garage workbench...</p><p>...when combined with the munchies from weed, he goes into the kitchen and makes enchiladas or mole from scratch, complaining <em>They don't make it right out here... </em></p><p>...barking at Morty to mince the onions and cilantro for the carnitas tacos he portals to a mystery spot in Mexico to get, refusing to order from the Taco Bell down the street because <em> Are you fucking crazy?! Those fucking </em>chigaderas?! <em>Those aren't real tacos, you idiot!  Since when is a glorified chip cup supposed to replace a soft, pilable, warm corn tortilla?!  Fuck that, I'll be back in ten...</em></p><p>Morty rarely ever catches him speaking it when he’s sober.  Well, they live in the suburban Midwest, not as many Spanish speakers around, let alone other Latinos... And he, his mom, Summer, and Rick are pretty pale; no one would really think that they were Mexican at first glance... And Rick is always <em>waaay</em> too focused on off-planet shenanigans to concern himself about "teaching family traditions" that he, as a grandfather, <em>supposedly</em> needs to consider.  He hates the institution of blindly following traditions in the first place... </p><p>Which deep inside, Morty feels is a detriment to himself because that part of himself is fuzzy, unknown...</p><p>He's so curious, just as curious about where Rick had been those twenty years away from the family.  He of course knows his grandpa as he is now: chaotic, brillant, asshole, galactic terrorist, seasoned in crime and intellect. </p><p>But who is he?  Who is Rick before the current seventy-year old version of himself, his parents, where he grew up, how was his childhood and young adulthood like...? Who is the family Sanchez, Morty's second last name he bears, as based on Latin American tradition?</p><p><em>Mortimer Smith Sanchez.</em>.. Who is that in relation to Ricardo Sanchez, <em>Abuelo?</em>....</p><p>Though he hates the circumstances that have to arise to get him to speak it....Morty finds it to be the one silver lining when it does.  Because the Spanish is accompanied by so much more than just words...</p><p>Morty is glad his Spanish teacher has been willing to go outside of their textbook and teach him Mexican slang and insults, to understand what the fuck Rick has been saying to him during all those midnight ragers before<em>… </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hopefully I can speak with him when he's sober someday...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, who’s gonna clean up that puddle tomorrow?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>His racing thoughts fade out at this question into sleep...</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>His question is answered six hours later from the sound of a scream and Summer yelling,</p><p> </p><p>“Grandpa Rick, again?!  Why?!  The toilet is right there!  How could you miss?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off!” He yells back, Vicente Fernandez's "<em>Acá entre nos"</em>  playing at the loudest volume possible immediately cutting off the rest of Summer's shouts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“Ugggghhh déjame en paz, cabrón...” = "Ugggghhh leave me alone, asshole..." (Cabrón literally means "male goat"!)</p><p>“Déjame, ya te dijo...” = "Leave me alone, I already told you..."</p><p>“Por Dios, ya...no voy a mover, güey... ¡Ya quítate!...” = "My God, stop...I am not going to move, bro... Get out of here already!" (Güey literally means "male ox"!)</p><p>"Pinche baboso...” = "Fucking slug." (Baboso literally means like "a person who slobbers/drools", very lowly and gross.)</p><p>"No me digas...voy a ducharme cuando yo quiero, no cuando me digas..." = "Don't tell me that...I'll shower when I want to, not when you tell me to."</p><p>"Chingadera" = "Fucking thing/shitty thing."</p><p>"Buenas noches." = "Good night."</p><p>Abuelo = Grandfather</p><p>Mijo = Son, literally "my son" ("mi hijo") as a conjunction. Term of endearment!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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